


Old Wounds

by magicflowr



Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: (kinda), (of peko), (that's the main theme), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Heavy Angst, Other, Past Brainwashing, Past Violence, Post-Neo World Program (Dangan Ronpa), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, compulsory heterosexuality, not graphic, v3 didn't happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 06:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13804935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicflowr/pseuds/magicflowr
Summary: ...amidst the recovery and the self-discovery he’d unearthed a truth about himself that he couldn’t hold on to for any longer. It must be done. He loves her so, so much.But it's time to confess.Fuyuhiko and Peko do everything together. They always have. She's always been a part of his life, from birth, in deep despair, and post-despair, they've always fought together. And now they recover together, theyshouldrecover together.He's about to fuck it up.





	Old Wounds

No tears.

He’s staring at his reflection in the mirror, hands pushing down on the sink to steady himself.

 _Be a man_ , Fuyuhiko thinks, instantly scolding himself when he remembers how much Peko _hates_ that phrase. See, patronising is the last thing he wants to be, but thinking back to the first time Peko had given him an honest-to-God opinion made his heart soar. This was well before they’d started dating – she’d said something like this after about three months of therapy. _Only three months._

_She’s always been so dedicated._

He’d always been… uneasy about Peko’s role in his life. His parents were strict from day fucking one, for a while, there'd been a part of him that never  _really_ thought the brainwashing worked, not entirely. It had been difficult to understand how it _could_ work. How do you strip a human being of everything that makes them human? But his hopes of a normal friendship with Peko were dashed the moment she could walk on her own and she chose to walk three steps behind him. They spent years together in that horribly unbalanced tool/master relationship.

 _Master._ The word makes him shudder. He’s no longer the tough-as-nails yakuza heir that needs to act like their relationship was normal, like he enjoyed controlling her, like he didn’t think the girl he grew up with should be his friend instead of his servant. Like he didn’t lie awake at night thinking about the life she could have had if any other family had picked her up. What would she be like if a loving family had taken her in, raised her in some country region of Japan? She’d be sewing patches into her denim jackets as an act of rebellion when the world ended.

_If I had the power to release her back then, would I have done it?_

If his parents had given him the chance, would he have let her go? He has to say no. If he’s standing in front of the mirror, beating himself up, _hell_ , _might as well go all the way._ If letting her go meant never seeing her again, he would have barely considered it. _Selfish jackass._

_Life without Peko… probably something I’ll have to get used to._

Peko coming into herself had been an experience… a heart-breaking, difficult one, but the breakthroughs were joyous and wonderful. The exact scenario escapes him, but the pride, the grin, the subsequent blushing from Peko and then himself – that never left. He remembered being curled up on the couch watching the news, her head on his shoulder in an act of precious intimacy.

_“If these guys would just fucking man up and-“_

_“Don’t.”_

And he’d smiled. He remembered how light he’d felt knowing that the years of damage done by the Kuzuryuu clan were coming undone and that she was becoming- realising that she was a person in her own right.

_She told me off._

_I wish we could go back to that._

No, that’s selfish. Peko’s doing so well now. Everything so natural, so free, so delightfully real. So much progress in a few short years. Her language had developed away from ‘young master’, but she’d retained her uniquely Peko dignity and grace.

Fuyuhiko used to catch her making lists of her personality traits before they went to bed, checking them off like her feelings were some sort of obligation. _Quiet, scary, stoic…_ _gentle_ –now the lists had been put away and she’d started living. Still stoic, still quiet, the same Peko she’s always been with more passion and full autonomy. No need to be scary anymore.

_‘Be a man’. What a stupid phrase. She’s the strongest fucking person I’ve ever known. Peko could still kick any man’s ass in a heartbeat. Once the Ultimate Swordswoman, always the Ultimate Swordswoman._

Stronger than he is, that’s for sure. Peko had cried quite a bit at the start – years and years of repressed emotion came flying the moment she’d allowed herself to feel again. He’d been there with her every time the pressure to be strong had kicked her in the teeth, holding her hair back when the sadness and guilt came pouring out of her mouth and into the toilet basin. He’d hugged her and stroked her back as the sobs came convulsing out. Most of the time she hadn’t known what she was crying for. More times than he cared to think about, he had cried with her. And she was always there for him, stroking his back and listening to the painful lamentation of shared trauma.

He feels guilty knowing that, on top of everything else, the thing that’s taking her years of therapy to recover from is his own damn family. On top of the trauma of the simulation, she had (has) issues with her first nature being rewired. He’s somewhat thankful that she can’t remember _everything_ about the Neo World Program, no matter what his therapist thinks.

Some things are better off not remembered.

She’d woken up delirious. How else could she have processed it? She didn’t have the time that he had, she hadn’t been one of the ‘survivors’ that had everything explained before being jolted back to reality. She’d woken up in a state of half-despair, it took her days to recognise him and weeks to fully recall everybody else. Recovery from dying and waking up is unending and lonely – how does the girl with no functioning sense of humanity cope with such a god-awful, unique experience?

She isolates, she retreats. She never fully recovers. This is what they’d all expected, but she’d gone above and beyond expectations and maintained a life of quite dignity. It’s been months since she’d reached to grab a phantom sword, nearly a year since the last public incident. Without a sword she’s used her eyes, her words, her fists on anybody she’d seen as a threat (to him, never to her).

They both had nightmares. When they did, they had each-other. Living without her was something he never wanted to experience. When they’d all moved to mainland, it was Sonia that suggested they move together, live together. Before they’d even started dating, they’d been romantically assigned. They’d both been worried about dependence, but at least this dependence was… balanced. Mostly. For years she’d caught ‘young master’ on the tip of her tongue. She still twitches whenever he falls, or whenever a stranger innocently bumps into him.

His response to this was no longer anger, but deep remorse. Those words are difficult for both of them. Before the programme they’d embraced the words, a duo in despair. Always together. Uncomfortably clear memories of those times still haunted them; she flinches seeing her hair in plaits, flinches seeing it loose and untamed and covered in blood. It’s been months since she’d had a night where looking at him was too much to handle, for when she looked at him she remembered dying and killing and she couldn’t breathe. He slept on the futon those nights, but he always woke up in their bed, Peko having scooped him up and switched their places out of guilt. _‘You deserve comfort more than I do, Pek’ he’d remind her, ‘you’re too tall for the futon.’._ Some days she’d tease him about being tiny, some days she’d stare at him blankly.

He could handle either.

Things should be different now. And they are, for the most part, the panic attacks don’t come as often and it’s no longer painful to fall asleep in each other’s arms. The futon has been a couch for months now. They’re happy. They… they should be. But amidst the recovery and the self-discovery he’d unearthed a truth about himself that he couldn’t hold on to for any longer. It must be done. He loves her so, so much.

But… it’s time.

The confession.

The confession that, despite how much he loved her, and he’d always loved her, he couldn’t love her the way she deserved. The guilt for keeping her here for so long. Oh, the guilt. In his old (their old) line of work, there are only black and white scenarios, and this shitty situation places the blame on himself or nobody. He chooses himself.

Here he is. Standing in his shitty blue pyjamas, staring at himself in the mirror with toothpaste dripping from the corners of his mouth. He’s making up shitty metaphors, comparing yakuza deals to this… predicament. Fuck, this is awful. He’s awful. There’s nothing he can do to change it, nothing he can do to ease her hurt.

_I don’t want her to hurt, but I need her to hurt._

_I need to look into her eyes and see the glint of human suffering. I need her to react badly. I need to know her words aren’t coming from some god-awful obligation to make me feel happy. If she doesn’t hate me, she’s trying to please me._

A gasp escapes his tightly clenched chest.

“Fuyuhiko? Do you need me?”

Quick as ever. Peko can sense his fear a mile away, he can feel her presence at the closed door. Guarded, concerned. His panic attacks have come back lately – well, it’s lately to her. For as long as he could he’d hidden them. But there’s nothing he can keep from her, not for too long.

“Can I come in? Are you okay?”

“Fuck- no, nothing’s up, I’m cool.”

_Liar._

“You don’t need me?”

_What kind of question is that, now of all times? Of course, I need you. I love you. I’m going to break your heart._

“Go back to bed, Peko.”

He waits for her retreat. She’s got a silence in her step that makes judging her location difficult, but he _thinks_ she’s gone. It’s difficult to hear her footsteps over the sound of his heartbeat. He takes three long breaths. In, out, in out, in- Oh, fuck it.

_I can’t wait any longer._

With a push of the bathroom door, he stumbles out. But she’s waiting for him, looking ready to catch him in anticipation of a fall.

“Fuyuhiko? Tell me what’s wrong.”

Something breaks. He collapses on the carpeted landing floor, feeling the dizzy weight of his head too heavy to bear, and Peko’s arms deftly wrap around his chest to steady the fall. They’ve collapsed together – except his limbs are sprawled and messy, hers folded and neat. His head is basically in her lap, but he steadies himself enough to lean against the wall, knees up, arms wrapped around them, head buried down like a child.

“You’re going to tell me what’s wrong. Please, Fuyuhiko.”, she repeats, a pleading tone in her usually steady voice. He looks up. He looks up at the woman he calls his girlfriend, lover, whatever. Her hair is still in plaits, messy from a long day training. He can’t quite look her in the eyes, so he focuses on her silken pyjamas.

“You missed a button.”

She fixes the button.

“You know I hav- you know I’m here no matter what”, she repeats, a stutter in her voice as she tries to judge the severity of the situation.

He thinks about telling her he doesn’t want to talk about it, that he just wants to lie on the floor with her and sob like he does when the memories get too strong or when a flower reminds him of his sister or when a baseball game come on TV and his eyes glaze over. He wants Peko to hold him and tell him he doesn’t need to say anything if he doesn’t want to.

He doesn’t deserve that anymore.

With Peko’s glasses off, he can see her eyes as red as the sun at dusk, her natural fear masked with a warmth designed to calm his nerves. It’s an expression he’s been seeing since childhood.

In that moment, Fuyuhiko knows he needs to tell her.

Words come tumbling out of his mouth before he can think about what they are, and he lets them. They leave his mouth as if they didn’t belong to him, but regretfully, this is everything he’s been thinking for the past few months. _Everything._ Words between choked sobs about how much he loves her and how perfect she is and how proud he is and how much she deserves and how he doesn’t deserve her and how… how she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him. This is unmanly, this is undignified, this is pathetic, this is-

She silently takes his hand.

And he bursts into tears anew.

“Peko?”

“I’ve got you, I’m here”

“Peko…”

Fuyuhiko looks at their hands intertwined, both rough and worn from years of battle. Together. He remembers when hers were so calloused she could barely hold a sword. They’re healing now. He wonders if she’ll ever hold his hand again. There are tears on his, running down the cracks and curves of his hands and into hers. If he could punch himself without letting go, he would.

He makes a note to mentally destroy himself when this is over.

This is it.

“I’m gay.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my favourite headcanon, and one of my favourite themes to write about. Compulsory heterosexuality is a rough deal, and I've always had the urge to explore it with these two (disclaimer: I am a lesbian and I have experienced how painful this is for myself). 
> 
> They never got the chance to explore themselves, they fell into a relationship because that's... just what you do, right?
> 
> Comes back to bite Fuyuhiko.
> 
> May or may not be a part 2.


End file.
